The Body in the Snowdrift (25 page)

Tom was already dialing. “The minute I hear, you'll hear.”

And suddenly, they were alone, the two sisters-in-law holding hands. Faith knew Betsey didn't want any coffee. Didn't want anything except her boy.

 

Dennis came in shortly after Tom and Andy had left. Without looking at Faith, who was still stretched out in bed, he went over to his wife, who was sitting on the end of it. She hadn't moved an inch since Andy had told her about Scott.

“They're bringing in the state Search and Rescue units. The ski patrol has already started covering the mountain. Everything's being done. They'll find him.” He grabbed her hand. “Bets, they'll
find
him.”

“What about Burlington?” Faith suggested. “Ophelia's friends there? Naomi must know who some of them are. They may have hitched a ride and be hanging out on the Church Street mall right now.”

“The police have already thought of that,” Dennis said. “They're checking in Burlington. We're pretty sure they're together. Nobody's seen Ophelia—damn stupid name!—since noon.”

Betsey didn't say a word. Dennis had taken her hand, and Faith noticed it lay limp in his grasp.

“Robert and Craig are with the ski patrol. Tom is down at the Sports Center, and I'm going back there.”

Faith got out of bed. She felt dizzy momentarily, but then the room stopped spinning. “I'm going down
stairs to make some tea. When Dennis leaves, come down and we'll wait there.” Betsey was obviously in shock, and Faith had to get her moving—and keep her warm. She'd light the fire. Maybe it would help to have Dick—Daddy—sit with them. But knowing him, he had probably joined the search.

“Is Dick next door?” she asked Dennis.

He shook his head. “He's with Robert and Craig.”

“Do you want your mom to come over?” Faith asked. “I can trade places with her.”

“No,” Betsey said, her first word since the outburst. “Let her stay where she is.”

Faith went downstairs and got busy. Doing something, anything, felt good. But lighting a fire and putting water on to boil didn't take a great deal of time, and all too soon she was sitting on the couch, looking at the waning light, wishing desperately she'd told someone that Scott wasn't around at breakfast. Maybe if she had, Andy would have cracked sooner. Gone since last night—had he seen something he wasn't supposed to? Seen the murderer? Was this why Ophelia had looked so terrified? Had she been with Scott? But that didn't make any sense. She would have raised an alarm.

Suddenly, Faith sat up straight. Maybe Ophelia hadn't known Scott was missing. Maybe they weren't together!

Dennis and Betsey were still upstairs. Events like this either brought couples closer together or split them apart. Which would it be for the Parkers?

The kettle was whistling. Faith got up to turn off the gas. That whistling at Gertrude's. It hadn't been a bird.
It had been a human being. What was the tune? No tune, just noise. Remember, try to remember, she told herself. She closed her eyes, but nothing came. Gertrude, and that house. Who had been standing behind her in the doorway, cloaked by shadows, the night Faith had followed Ophelia? One of the older woman's young frat-boy admirers? Who? Someone from Pine Slopes?

Faith hadn't asked Tom about Eduardo. The lawyer must have arrived if Tom had left the boy. Eduardo, a suspect! Insane, but not on the surface. He knew about the pump house. He'd fought with John. Jealousy is a strong passion, and maybe Juana was lying. Maybe there
had
been something between John and her. It was a motive for a crime. There didn't seem to be any others. Except the money. But John had safely stowed it away at Patty Forest's, and she hadn't killed her husband. Or had she? Faith assumed the police would have asked her to account for her whereabouts last night. Maybe she'd known what was in the suitcase all along. And what about an accomplice? A neat little crime. John is eliminated and his widow ends up with a giant nest egg. But where did John get the money in the first place? Sums like that meant drugs—and Vermont, “Green Mountain” in French, got pretty
vert
in some areas during the growing season. The marijuana planes patrolling the state couldn't keep pace with what some said was its major crop.

Drug money—or blackmail money. John hadn't seemed the type, or maybe Faith didn't want to believe that a fellow New Yorker
and
a chef would stoop so low. It was a distinct possibility, though. A sudden
windfall and sudden demise. But where had he been all week? Why had he returned to Pine Slopes, only to meet his death in such a ghastly manner? Returned to meet his killer, who was also his victim?

And what about all the “pranks” that had been going on during the week, the vandalism? How were they tied to John's death? Was he responsible? Creeping back to set the dummy afloat, jamming the chairlift? A grudge?

Which led her to Josh. If anyone had a grudge against the resort, it was the Sports Center's director. What better way to pay back his longtime employers for letting him down? Perhaps John had found out and was blackmailing him? But the timing was wrong—and where would Josh get that kind of money?

Grudge. That applied to Ophelia, too. Her complete adoration of Gertrude was unhealthy, but how did it fit into the private war she was having with her mother, and, by extension, the whole Stafford family, except as a means of retreat? Scott was sure that Ophelia wasn't involved in any of what had been happening, but Faith wasn't so sure. The girl was involved in something. A mask of fear—that's how Ophelia had appeared in this morning's early light. Masks. So many masks.

Dennis and Betsey came downstairs.
His
face was a mask of concern. They'd been up there a long time. Had he been confessing? Now would certainly not have been the time, but he was calculating enough to have decided it
was
the time—Betsey would be so preoccupied with Scott that he could reveal all sorts of things with impunity.

Ready access to money. Dennis had no problem
there. Had John found out about Dennis's affair, his unprofessional conduct, and blackmailed him? Was her brother-in-law a philanderer
and
a murderer?

Why hadn't Tom called? When, oh when, would they be able to go home? She'd spoken to Ben and Amy, explaining that Aunt Betsey wasn't feeling well and they needed to stay with their Grandma while Mom took care of her. Amy wanted to know if Aunt Betsey had a temperature, but Ben wasn't buying any of it. “As soon as she isn't sick, call me,” he'd said in a “the world is too much with me” tone of voice.

“The water's just boiled and we have a good fire going. Sit down and I'll make us some tea,” Faith said to Betsey. “I assume you're leaving now, Dennis.” If she sounded inhospitable, it was because she was.

“Yes. I'll call as soon as we have news.” He leaned down to kiss the top of his wife's head. Betsey had stationed herself in the chair closest to the phone. She didn't move, and Dennis left his pillar of salt without a backward glance. Faith felt absurdly better once he was gone. She brought Betsey a mug of sweet tea and a fleece throw.

Tucking the throw across Betsey's lap, Faith said, “Drink some tea. Nothing I can say is going to help, but you have to keep going, Betsey. You are such a strong person. Hold on to that now.”

Betsey took the mug and sipped slowly. Her eyes seemed to clear, and she focused on Faith, who was kneeling by her side.

“It's getting dark. They have to find him before dark.”

“There's still plenty of daylight. And they have
lights, strong floodlights. Did you hear the helicopters? They'll find him if he's on the mountain.”

“And if he isn't?”

“They'll find him wherever he is.”

“Dennis is upset. They're the only reason he sticks around, you know. The boys. It was around the time Scott turned eight. I remember thinking at his party that he wasn't a little boy anymore. That's when it started. The three of them. Worse when Andy got older. I stopped existing for them. Disappeared into thin air.”

“Oh Bets, no! What are you saying? I've been there with you, remember. All these years. Your kids love you very much.” And it was true, Faith realized. Whatever was going on now hadn't been going on long. In her mind she saw pictures of Betsey and the boys gleefully playing touch football or in the midst of snowball fights at Fairchild family gatherings. Saw the pictures clearly, because she hadn't been participating. The Sibleys were not a sports-minded family. As far as Faith's father was concerned, the Yankees originated in New England and the Knicks were a rather crude way of referring to his wife's ancestors.

When she thought about these pictures, Faith realized Dennis hadn't been around. Betsey had. She repeated what she'd said. “Your kids have always been crazy about you.”

“Not now. Not for a long time. They have their club. It's what happens. I was born into an all-male enclave, and I've duplicated it. ‘The Fairchild boys.' Did you ever hear anybody mention ‘the Fairchild girl'?”

Faith hadn't.

“One of the boys. That's what I've tried to be my
whole life. Maybe that's why Dennis is having an affair.” She looked at her sister-in-law. “Nobody knows. And he doesn't know I know, so I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. And that means Tom. Especially Tom, my perfect big brother.”

What would happen if I tried to hug Betsey? Faith wondered. She definitely needed a hug—and a whole lot more. She settled for a pat on the shoulder.

“Tom isn't perfect. Very, very far from it.” How had they gotten into this conversation? Faith wished she believed in magic wands, as Amy did, and had one to wave over Betsey, instantly healing the old wounds and planting seeds of forget-and-forgive deep in her psyche. Not toward Dennis, though. Not unless Betsey really, really wanted to.

They sat for another forty minutes in the dusk before Faith gave in and turned on as many lights as she could find.

The phone still hadn't rung, and when she called down to Tom at the Sports Center, all he could tell her was that there was no news. No news at all.

 

It was a night of fervent activity, punctuated by long stretches of immobility, the two women sitting together mostly silent, not even trying to read. At dinnertime, the condo was crowded with hungry people. Betsey rallied, helping Faith prepare stacks of sandwiches and heat up soup. She put on a brave face, refusing the words of comfort and support offered, saying, “He's fine. We'll be hearing any moment.” Betsey was the kind of woman you wanted during a national emergency—working the sandbag line or doling
out sheets of plywood to nail over windows. And serving food. Tonight, everything went, even the leftover lasagna. Then they were all gone and Betsey lapsed into lethargy. Finally, Faith made her lie down on the couch, promising to wake her if there was news.

“Good or bad,” Betsey said.

“Good or bad,” Faith promised.

“I won't sleep,” Betsey said. But she did. Slipping into a welcome oblivion.

Faith had gone next door during the feeding frenzy. Both children were in pajamas and Marian was reading to them from an ancient copy of
The House at Pooh Corner.
Ben had obviously forgotten he was not supposed to be interested in such childish reading matter and was so engrossed, he didn't notice his mother's entry until she greeted them. She sat down and he climbed onto her lap. That hadn't happened in a long time. Faith stayed until the end of the chapter, tucking Amy into bed, with Ben still clinging to her side.

“I'll hold the fort here,” Marian said. “I wish Dick would stop for the night, but it's useless to suggest it.”

“Scott is missing, isn't he, Mom?” Ben finally asked.

“Yes. We don't know where he is right now, but…” She struggled with what to say, wanting to reassure her son but fearing that whatever she told him might turn out to be false. She paused and then asked, “When did you see him last?”

“At the condo. Last night. We were watching videos, remember? Amy fell asleep and Phelie put her to bed; then I stayed up with them to watch
Inu Yasha
—you know, that cool Japanese
anime
. Then
Dad came and made me go to bed. That's the last time I saw Scott or Phelie. Is she missing, too?”

“People saw her today, so she may be around, and Scott could be with her—maybe at a friend's house. Did they ever mention someplace like that?”

Ben shook his head. Faith had led him back to the living room and deposited him safely by his grandmother's side. She'd made cocoa, and the Hundred Acre Wood was waiting.

 

When Tom called, it was to tell his wife that he and Dennis were going to stay down at the Sports Center, sleeping on the pool chaises in shifts. His father had gone back to the condo. Robert and Craig were still out with the search parties. It was going to be a long night. He urged her to get some sleep.

After she hung up the phone, Faith stretched out on her bed again. She'd gone upstairs so that she could catch the phone as soon as it rang. There was no noise downstairs. Betsey was still sleeping deeply. With nothing to report, Faith decided to let her rest, and she turned off the light to try to get some sleep herself.

The phone jolted her from the light doze she'd fallen into. She grabbed the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Faith, it's Simon. I'm in my office. There is a message on the machine from Ophelia, and I'm very concerned. She sounds completely mad—said that everything was all her fault and she was going to be with John!”

“My God! I was afraid of this. She's seemed so angry, so depressed. Have you reached her parents?”

“I've been trying. They're not at Harold and Mary's or the Sports Center. Fred is out searching the mountain for Scott. I was, too. I just came in to grab some warmer clothes. You seem to have some sort of relationship with the girl through your nephews. What should I do? I've informed the police, but the officer I spoke to doesn't think it's serious. A bid for attention, he says. He's had some run-ins with the girl.”